A Southern Fried tale of hare raising exploits, from the lab journal of a mad scientist.

"Albert, is that you?" I cry. Whew, it is just my old buddy and lab assistant, whose brain sings a different song than mine, but sometimes we talk about esoteric things and end up making it a chorus!

Albert called me late one night as he is apt to do occasionally. He is a teenage survivor of KISS concerts, cocaine and too much sex. Big Brother did not approve back then, Orwell's big brother, not Albert's, who often could be found sampling from the same type of forbidden fruits himself. Albert said he has one good brain-cell left, but fortunately, it is his best one! That is why I let him "help out" in the lab, because he is such rollicking good company, that he lightens my mood.

Sometimes I laugh so hard at Albert, often while applying high-energy impulses to a visionary project of mine, like my teleportation device, or to "Lucy" my tornado killer invention. See my short story, "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds," for more on that idea.

The ridiculously inopportune timing of Albert's jokes, often cause me to disengage my brain long enough, so that things I am working on in the lab fly out of control and we all have to dive for cover. More than once we saw on the security camera, where Big Brother had caught a whiff of the exposed radiation from our buffoonery, with a satellite cluster in space designed for such things. They came sniffing around like some drooling baying hound dogs on the scent of a bandit faced raccoon, cotton-tailed hare, or some fatheads from across the way, that just invaded their neighbor's yard to get a football they erroneously launched.

Fortunately the storm troopers could never find the hidden door leading to our lab, but only came to know the Waffle House sign that is seen from every interstate ramp in the Deep South, and the ubiquitous Kudzu surrounding it!

Georgia DOT cut the Kudzu down for maintenance around the sign once , as it had only said "Waff ouse," at one point, and to their surprise they found a big bellied Georgia State trooper that was reported missing, snoozing in his patrol car, the fast growing weed having overgrown him cruiser and all that afternoon. When they awoke him, he still had his radar gun in one hand, and a sausage and biscuit from the Waffle House in the other, right where he was snuggly hidden in his speed trap. The darn Kudzu stuff grew so fast down here in that summer, that even the cops couldn't out run it. That is a true story, just ask Albert. He saw it!

Anyhow, Big Brother never could find out where the radiation emissions came from, so some nice Al Qaeda hunting Homeland Security folks stopped whatever the heck it is they do at the airport security detail right next to the terminal food court (well named), and came and tried to haul off the Waffle House's big Ole' juke box box from the 1960's, thinking THAT was the problem. That was a BIG mistake. They had to put it back and put in a dollar for three more songs they interrupted, when several angry truckers had their sausage and eggs, with hash-browns scattered smothered and covered, interrupted by their presence and by the abrupt cessation of Hank Williams Junior's "If Heaven Ain't a Lot Like Dixie, (Then I don't want to Go)," classic song.

This left me and Albert hilariously safe underground below my secret Waffle House passageway, which was hidden right behind that corner juke-box with the Elvis Trilogy still on it. So Albert left off from laughing long enough to log our exploits thusly. Lucky for this for poor Albert, who with his one good brain cell left, lived in freedom another day, long enough to tell the story occasionally for some feisty Georgia Peach, while polishing off just one more beer for posterity.

You should definitely visit us at the mad scientist lair sometime. Email me and once I check you out on Google, the Waffle House waitress with one tooth, who lives in the trailer park behind us that the tornado missed, will visit you and give you some greasy directions. We gonna have us a big old time. Cajuns and Texans ain't the only ones who can raise up a ruckus down here. Believe me, after one of these parties with us, you will agree that the South surely will rise again!

I don't like the taste of beer, and I don't do illegal drugs. I enjoy my clarity of mind too much, and relish those moments of crystalline perfect viewing, when all of the universe, God, life and reality comes amazingly into focus.

Alas! Time has mellowed Albert. His drug trips are long over ages ago, having gotten scared straight after a trip to the emergency room that almost had him buying the farm. Now, beer, Judas Priest, mathematics, computers, electronic circuit design, and programming are his remaining long time vices. Oh yes, and his two dear Dachshunds who rule the house when he is not there, and are his companions of choice these days. One can always hope for the best and pray for that one good brain cell can't we? Bless it Lord and Albert too!

During one of those late night brainstorm induced phone-calls he made to me one night, Albert was ironically, discussing his views on the human brain. He went on and on about the different cerebral areas being devoted to different functions and how many brain-cells was involved for each specific process. I thought about the brain pondering itself. Would too much thinking about yourself give you regenerative feedback and over-drive your brain's internal oscillators I wondered? I amused my self with the thought.

True to form he had had a few brew-skies(?) before calling me that night. After a rare break in the conversation, I jumped in to the verbal vacuum and asked him how many of his brain-cells were devoted to drinking beer?

He said, "A bunch!" and he hung up the phone laughing and being satisfied he got his point across, probably drifted blissfully off to sleep again, Albert's 171 IQ self-assuredly still intact.

So there you have it, a story about my buddy, Albert. I owe him greatly. We have come a long way since that teleportation project he was going to help me with, when he heard me challenging Einstein's and others viewpoints in Electronics Technology class night after night over 20 years ago. Even though we have moved on with our lives, I still love him and miss him. Albert, dude, you are the best! We are once friends, always friends. That is the best kind of friend, wouldn't you agree?

Go ahead and hate your neighbor,
Go ahead and cheat a friend.
Do it in the name of heaven,
You can justify it in the end.
There won't be any trumpets blowing,
Come the Judgment Day.
On the bloody morning after,
One tin soldier rides away.

I miss Albert too, he's my missing half. I too, have only one brain cell left and am keeping it close in case I need it when I come to the realization that my beer cap is a twist off and that I don't need a bottle opener to open it. : - D

P.S. I wasn't able to comment you with my other ID, I tried, and it said I had previously left a commennt with this poem and would not let me post my comment. I had to change to this ID in order to place a comment here with you.

Very funny stuff, Starman. Have you ever considered having any of your stories published professionally? This is the kind of thing I believe that would sell good to Reader's Digest and general reader's magazines like that. Let me know how you do. Good Luck!

Rockie I am another to tell you, you can't just walk away from us as we are all a family here on the den and we look forward to what each has to share. I may not have been around for a few weeks due to family sickness and now getting ready to move but I do try to read and check in on my family and I have to say Georg is precious and believe me his review was just his sence of humor, if you knew him like we do and you will get to know him, he is a wonderful man. Please Rockie think about it and remember all family members don't have the same personality. We do share a love and care for each other as we love you and you owe us your work to read and enjoy. Take care.

Hey guy, isn't it a proven point that most folks with a high IQ are kinda crazy anyway? And this write just goes to show that proven point for both you and my old brother Georg(Edvard)...I have no idea what my IQ is as I can never get through the tests because lack of patience, but I can say that after all those products of mans chemical inventions that I have ingested, snorted, smoked and poked have probably left me with alot less brain cells than even your buddy Albert has left & I don't let one bad (how you read of Georg's review into it) review make me want to leave a place that I actually have fun in...AD being that place...Please, don't leave on anyone else's account, other than your own...Personally I value & respect your reviews when you stop by my site & look forward to hearing your input, no matter good or bad...Find Peace, bro', Ed (oh & Rufuz too)

Rocky, someone will always criticize. But mostly, you need only to look at yourself in the mirror, and smile.

Reviewed by Eileen Brannon

3/15/2009

Rock, Don't ever let a drunk tell you what to write or how to live. You are better than that and your writing is not only entertaining but to me oft times leading me to the truth of life. Don't leave, I for one need to be able to read your missives. Always my support for you are a brilliant person with so much to give to this old world.

My dear Rocky, you can't leave this was a wonderfully written piece of art...and our dear Georg with his weird sense of humor was just emphasising it...he is a dear once you get to know and understand him...don't you dare leave for what is written by this crazy misunderstood man....Love you Rocky and so does Georg and love your wonderful writes too....Love, Bonnie

That was a mean review for something in the humor category of stories, but all I can say is truth is stranger than fiction, and aside from the parts of the story that were written for overt humor, (kudzu, etc.) the science experiments and my brilliant friend written of very truthfully at the end of the story, are very real and very brilliant, having gone to Georgia Tech, and received a mathematics scholarship. The bulk of our conversations could NEVER be written here, as has just been proved, the world cannot handle even a slice of the truth, though it be softened in humor. Forget it. You will never hear it from me, my new physics having now being taken to the grave with me. You will see the results one day, but will be terrified of ignorance, not knowing when they fly overhead but don't answer you, that this review is proof of why. Small thinking will be the death of us all one day. They laughed at Einstein and Tesla too!

It is for comments like this that people like me, don't bother to waste time explaining their inventions and life's work on people who have better things to do with their time than learn the truth about the universe. By the way, I don't hate beer, I dislike the taste.

Oh yeah, ha, ha, ha. Of course last review was a joke right? Right???

I will now retire to lab to cogitate on how to live peaceably among my neighbors, with their Coors, sharp knives and all. I was right about these poets in my poem Anno Domini, just as the last review proved.

Here is the original review I am referring to in case it gets changed or removed. I guess I just didn't get his humor. He obviously didn't get mine! may be I should just quit this place as I am not a writer, but a scientist, theorist and inventor. So I do turn the other cheek. Go ahead AD and slap it too. Ciao AD. It has been fun!
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Reviewed by Georg Mateos 3/15/2009

Well, what can I say? but "The Waffle House of Hysteria City!" this short story most be written by a drunk mad woman with PMS.
Dudes that hate beer? Don't take illegal drugs but get high with...what?
Having a 167 IQ myself and Mensa Member, that 171 IQ is a fraud (you need to be one to recognize the next one)but I will vote to cheat a neighbour and hate a friend...or whatever! Now I take a swig of Coors.

Well, what can I say? but "The Waffle House of Hysteria City!" this short story most be written by a drunk mad woman with PMS.
Dudes that hate beer? Don't take illegal drugs but get high with...what?
Having a 167 IQ myself and Mensa Member, that 171 IQ is a fraud (you need to be one to recognize the next one)but I will vote to cheat a neighbour and hate a friend...or whatever! Now I take a swig of Coors.